Looking for the Right
by Velveteen Nightmare
Summary: The humane one confronts Enjolras. Updated!
1. The Hearts that are Weary Tonight

Combeferre choked back a sob.

The day had gone completely to ruin. At the funeral procession he had been able to delude himself into thinking that all of their planning, all of their hard work, all of their _dreams_ were about to pay off.

He was tired of being Enjolras' conscience, the soft voice of reason, the steadying hand, and reassuring smile. What Combeferre wanted more than anything, was a chance to fall completely apart at the seams…if only for a moment.

Even in the cellar, Combeferre could still hear the Guardsmen talking and moving about at the end of the street, and felt sickened.

They had killed his best friend.

Oh, he knew that sometimes he gave the mistaken impression that Enjolras was his most trusted of his comrades…but no, that title always went to the one more subdued than him…Jean Prouvaire.

Enjolras didn't seem to care that an innocent heart lay still, that ink-stained fingers were growing cold, that a pretty girl in a flat would never again here a love poem spoken by that strange boy-man voice.

Combeferre clenched his fist briefly. The wretch had _cried_ over that blasted old man…he had _kissed_ the stranger's forehead, while _tears_ trickled down his cheeks. The old fool had obviously been disturbed…not some sort of hero…and yet…

They heard Prouvaire's death cries, and Enjolras' only response was to tell the spy he would die.

Enjolras had turned away from the spy and Combeferre after he had spoken his sentencing of the agent. The cold aloofness that made Enjolras, essentially what he was became too much for Combeferre to witness.

Suddenly, Combeferre was overcome with such rage it almost blinded him, and he wrenched Enjolras back to face him.

"That won't bring him back!" He shouted. "What good will it do? Do you think Jean Prouvaire _cares_? He's dead, you miserable wretch! Do you hear me? He's _dead_!" He broke off into a deranged, half-sobbing laugh. "A nice way to honor someone who loved life…who loved people…who wanted more than anything to see things resolved without bloodshed…." He shook Enjolras roughly. "Avenge him by killing a man. Do you know what he asked me when we took the spy prisoner? Do you?!"

Enjolras shook his head with impassiveness. His eyes were almost blank…calm….serene.

"He wondered if the spy was a _grandpere_. He was worried that somewhere out there, there might be little children missing their grandfather." Combeferre calmed slightly, and his voice took on an imploring tone. "Don't you see, Enjolras? Jean Prouvaire was gentle and good and innocent." His head throbbed and his throat ached from shouting.

Enjolras put a steadying hand on Combeferre's shoulder. "And his death will be avenged with the death of this spy." He said quietly as he left the room.

The spy looked at Combeferre with a sickly smile that chilled his heart. "I think your friend missed your point."

Combeferre glanced at the spy sadly. "He always has."

_I do not own Les Miserables. Review if you so desire. Cheers! _


	2. Wishing for the War to Cease

Enjolras half turned from his perch, in the midst of the safety of the barricade. His eyes widened and he clamored down as he spotted Combeferre emerging from the wine shop. In one hand he held his cane with a handkerchief tied to the end. His other hand was on the elbow of the spy.

"What is it you think you are doing?" Enjolras asked evenly.

At the sound of Enjolras' voice, the others silently made a half circle around the three. Watching. Incredulous.

Combeferre waved his cane slightly and the breeze caught fabric, causing it to wave. "I'm doing, what _I_ think it is right." He met Enjolras' cold gaze. "For once."

Muttering from the others, both stranger and friend.

"You would betray us?"

"I would _save_ _him_."

"He is a spy." Enjolras said.

"He is a _man_, Enjolras. He didn't kill anyone…his musket wasn't even loaded! He was here to get information on us." Combeferre heard the mutterings of his friends, sharpen and increase in volume. He had the uneasy feeling he was burning bridges whilst still standing upon them.

With a sigh, Combeferre glanced around at his friends. "I'm going to give them their man. Alive. I can't think of any way better to avenge Jean Prouvaire than to show them that we meet cruelty with compassion."

"They'll kill you." Enjolras said blandly.

"I daresay they might. But being shot from the front by 'enemies' would be preferable to being shot in the back by 'friends' would it not?"

The cold demeanor dropped from Enjolras and for a second a very human young man stood in his place. "I cannot believe you'd say that…I cannot believe you'd think that, René."

"I don't know what to think anymore, Enjolras." Combeferre felt the spy studying him with interest, yet he continued to focus on Enjolras. "I watched you kill a man in cold blood…not in the heat of battle, but a calculated execution while he pled for mercy…"

"He killed." The stoniness had returned.

"Do you know what I feel, Enjolras?" Combeferre asked. "I feel that I'd rather have Bahorel and Jean Prouvaire alive and well than your fetid republic."

"Easy, Combeferre." It was Courfeyrac, and his voice was shaking. _The center tries to keep everything from falling apart._ Combeferre nodded towards him, acknowledging his concern.

"I also feel that I'd rather bandage wounds than create them." The murmurings increased, mostly from the strangers who had joined them. Combeferre wondered if they felt he was some sort of heretic of the Republic. "But mostly, I feel that your Republic isn't worth the price of admission."

Combeferre turned to the spy. "Come, _grandpere_, I'm having you walk in front….I wouldn't put it past them to shoot you in the back..." he glanced at Enjolras who merely glared at him coldly. "…or myself…but I'd prefer the latter."

"Fool!" Enjolras cried. "Traitor!"

Pointing to the heap of corpses piled to one side, Combeferre calmly returned, "Murderer. _Butcher_." For a second he looked over the worried faces of his friends. "It isn't too late yet." He said softly. "For God's sake, reconsider."

"Go…_coward_." Enjolras hissed his face twisty into a mask of fury and betrayal.

"Good luck, Enjolras." Combeferre tightened his grip on the cane-flag and helped the spy up the barricade.

At the crest, he heard the cries of the guardsmen as he held up his flag. He wondered vaguely if he might not be executed on the spot, along with the spy…his good deed for naught.

The spy suddenly called out a single word; a codeword evidently, for Combeferre heard an officer give the order to hold fire. Trembling, though he wasn't certain why, he half-led, half-followed the spy to the waiting ranks of the National Guard.

He wondered what his fate would be.


	3. All Quiet on this Front

"Inspector Javert!" an officer cried. "Thank God you're alright. We heard reports that they had beheaded one of our men."

Javert accepted the man's overtures with a quick nod and hastily given thanks. He then turned to the rebel-doctor who had delivered him to safety. Two guardsmen grabbed his arms while he merely stared a short distance away.

The inspector followed the young man's gaze and sighed. He was staring at the corpse of the rebel who had been captured. Javert felt mildly intrigued by the young man who had in the midst of turmoil and anarchy---chosen the right path.

"Kill him." The officer's sharp voice cut into his reverie. "Like the other."

Javert jerked his head up and glanced at the officer. "I think not."

"I beg your pardon?" The officer asked, genuinely incredulous. His men froze, uncertain of what their orders were. The rebel looked at Javert with marked curiosity.

"Why would you kill a potential source of information?" Javert asked patiently. "He has surrendered and returned an officer of the law. Obviously he has severed ties with the dissidents."

"He won't talk." The officer insisted stubbornly. Javert recognized the look of bloodlust in the man's eyes. He met it calmly with a patient smile. As was expected, the facial expression unnerved the officer enough for him to consider interrogating the student.

The officer fumed for a moment. "What is your name?" He barked.

The rebel hesitated. "René Combeferre."

Javert nodded in open approval. "He's cooperative."

"Who is the leader of the barricade? Who is the tall blonde one, the one that looks like a woman?" The officer was obviously torn between disappointment at not having an excuse to kill the rebel on the spot, and surprise at having him be so accommodating.

Combeferre seemed to almost shut his eyes for a moment. Javert felt momentary concern that the boy might get himself killed over the remnants of foolish loyalty. But, he finally spoke in a hushed voice.

"His name is Hector Enjolras. He is from the Dauphine…he's the only son of Charles and Claudine Enjolras."

The officer nodded and motioned for the two soldiers to let go of Combeferre's arms. "The others?"

"Harmless." Combeferre glanced up at Javert, pleading with his eyes

A young guardsman shoved his face into Combeferre's. "Harmless?" He jerked his thumb towards several corpses. "I'd hardly call that harmless! You---" The youth seemed unable to come up with a word foul enough and continued brokenly "killed my friend."

"And you mine." Combeferre said, glancing towards Prouvaire's body.

"He deserved it. We heard that you perverts killed and beheaded a soldier and are keeping his body on display in the wine shop." The youth cried.

Javert intervened. "There are no headless bodies in the wine shop. The only corpse in that building is that old man you fellows so bravely dispatched."

The guardsmen missed the tone but Combeferre caught it and glanced at the Inspector askance.

The youth asked his commanding officer, "What do we do with him now, sir?"

"Nothing." Javert said shortly.

"_I beg your pardon_?" The officer hissed.

"He is no longer your concern. He is _my_ prisoner, _I_ will question him further, and _I_ will see that he stands trial for his actions." Javert paused and added, "In a courtroom, not an alley."

The officer seemed almost to swell out of his epilates. "What right do you have to—"

Javert thrust his hand into his overcoat and shoved his papers at the officer. "Read my orders. Unless you want to argue with---"

The officer swore and spat on the pavement before handing the papers back. "Take the scum and go, Inspector Javert. I still think it would be easier if we just dispatched the wretch here and now, but your orders do seem…legitimate." He paused and offered, "Would you like to take one of my men to accompany you?" He cast a quick glare towards Combeferre. "To keep an eye on…your prisoner?"

"No, no. That won't be necessary." Javert said, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. Satisfied, he led the ex-rebel carefully and professionally away from the fray.

He had some questions of his own for the boy.

_Wow. Thanks for the overwhelmingly nice reviews, folks. I churned out the first chapter in 30 minutes and almost didn't post it. _


	4. The Truth

"I'm not, by the way."

Combeferre looked at Javert with a bemused expression on his face. "Pardon?"

"A grandfather." Javert explained.

"Oh." Combeferre looked at the ground, feeling somewhat abashed as they continued to walk down the dark streets.

"An interesting thought, though. But sadly, in order to be a grandfather one must first be a father and I never had time for such nonsense. I would not have made a good father…it isn't in my nature." Javert paused as if deeply considering something.

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. The expression unnerved Combeferre more than just a little. "But, I rather feel that I would have made a good grandfather. Pity."

"Sir? Where are we going?" Combeferre asked suddenly.

Javert sighed. "Some place where we can talk. I have a few questions for you."

"About my friends?"

Javert smiled at the defensive tone in the young doctor's voice. "No, about you. I'm very curious as to how an obviously intelligent man of science got involved in the foolhardy business of treason."

Combeferre's mouth opened and closed weakly. "We wanted—" Javert cut him off.

"No, stop with the group mentality, boy. " He said harshly. "Whatever your erstwhile leader filled your head with, I do not care. I want to know why you, René Combeferre, saw it fit to join up with a group whose purpose while no doubt noble, desired to kill their fellow countrymen all for the sake of progress."

"I…I…wanted…for the poor….for the downtrodden…for the abased…to lift them up…"

Javert shook his head. "You can change the government, you can take the money from the wealthy and hand it to the poor, you can change who is in power, but, you will still have the abased."

"All your friends have done today is to create more of them. Widows, orphans, and mothers left without a breadwinner. They will cry, they will beg, they will starve, and they will die. Your friends did not lift them up….they knocked them down into the gutter. And conveniently enough, they will perish and not have to worry about it."

Combeferre swallowed with difficulty. "I know. God help me, I know." He muttered.

Javert nodded slowly. "And that brings me to my other question."


	5. Threads in a Tapestry

"Why did you suddenly decide to do what was right?"

Combeferre eyed him apprehensively. "I realized that Enjolras and I have vastly different views on death. He sees death…his death, our friends' deaths…as something glorious. I think that he wants us to die; that he honestly believes that our deaths would bring about the rebirth of the Republic."

"And how do you view death?"

"Inevitable." Combeferre muttered, feeling somewhat macabre. "But I do understand and respect having ideals…but…"

"But?"

Suddenly Combeferre turned and looked angrily at Javert. "Jehan should have died an old man!" He cried.

"Bahorel should have perished in some bar-room brawl. Courfeyrac should live to contract something from a lady of pleasure and die happy. Joly's been dying for years; he should be allowed to continue to do so!"

"Bossuet, God only knows, maybe he'd be hit by an omnibus on his wedding day! Feuilly, cholera, fever, take your pick!"

He clenched his fists. "And those soldiers deserve better as well."

Javert continued to nod pleasantly, as if Combeferre was merely discussing the weather as opposed to having a tirade. "Yourself?"

The anger seemed to leave the young doctor's body. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your own death. I'm fairly certain a young man your age would want to live; but I'm merely asking for formality's sake." Javert said.

"I…well obviously I would prefer to live yes; but—"Suddenly the implications of having involved himself with the rebellion hit him. The possibility of the gallows loomed before him and he was surprised to discover he didn't care.

"I suppose I'll be hanged for treason though, won't I?" He asked. "So my opinion doesn't really matter one way or the other."

Javert sighed. "M. Combeferre, what do you notice about these streets as we continue our walk?"

Uncertain as to where Javert was going with this, Combeferre frowned. "They're dark…it looks like a gamin had a fine time breaking lamps."

"Yes, but aside from the wanton destruction of property."

"Its…quiet, I expect everyone is in bed." The young man's eyes widened behind his glasses and he hastily pushed them up the bridge of his nose. "No one cares about what is going on tonight, do they?"

"Well, they care about not getting shot if that is any consolation." Javert put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I wouldn't worry about being hanged. My point was simply that your rebellion is nothing more than a minor irritation in the grand scheme of things."

"When one does what is right he is generally rewarded." Javert added.

Combeferre's attention suddenly swung to an older man dressed in the uniform of the guard. He seemed almost rooted to the spot staring at Javert.

The inspector followed Combeferre's gaze and the doctor was surprised at the transformation of Javert's features.

"_Thou_." Javert growled.

Combeferre felt, not for the first time that evening, lost.


	6. Trust or Something Like It

"Javert, listen to me." The man began, but Javert cut him off.

"Valjean, what are you doing out on a night like this? Let me guess; you are off to save the child of a prostitute?" Javert asked sardonically.

"Listen to me! My daught---ward—Cosette, is in love with a boy who is at the barricades tonight. I must go and rescue him. If something happened to her Marius, she would be-"

Combeferre suddenly remembered where he had seen this man before. It was M. Leblanc! If his daughter were in love with a Marius, perhaps it was their Marius. Perhaps Marius had fallen for little Mademoiselle Lanoire.

"Marius? Marius Pontmercy?" He inquired.

"Yes, I believe that was the name." Valjean looked at the doctor curiously. Javert looked mildly interested himself.

"Marius is the one who threatened to blow up the barricade." Combeferre said, by way of explanation to Javert.

"Charming choice of a beau, Valjean. You must be so proud."

"I'm old." Valjean said patiently. "I don't know how much longer God will have use for me here on Earth."

"So naturally, you attempt to pawn your daughter off on the first unbalanced student she staggers across. It does not surprise me, though. Criminals such as you usually lack a strong paternal instinct." Javert said.

"Javert, I need to make certain my Cosette is taken care of. She need not be punished for my crimes. If I survive, I will return with the boy and you may take me to jail, or justice—"

"Now where have I heard this particular song before?" Javert asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Combeferre watched this exchange somewhat timidly. "How do you plan on getting into the barricade? The uniform will help you with the guard, but will be a disadvantage once you reach the other side."

He felt sickened at the thought of Enjolras bringing death to yet another innocent.

Javert nodded with a smile. "He's right, Valjean. The charming young men at the barricade were planning on shooting me once they had a spare cartridge, before M. Combeferre interceded on my behalf."

"I must go for Cosette's sake."

Combeferre fumbled in his pockets and found a lead and a scrap of paper. He scribbled a note for Courfeyrac, whom he still trusted do what was right. _This man is a friend of the people. _He signed it _ABC_, out of habit.

"Here." He said handing Valjean the note. "Give this to Courfeyrac…ask for him by name, and say it is from a fellow Friend. He will understand and vouch for you. Be wary of the tall blonde fellow."

Javert put a hand on Valjean's wrist. "I do not trust you. I know your ilk, you will disappear leaving your daughter behind."

Valjean looked as if he had been slapped in the face and gestured towards the house behind him. "That is my house. Knock on the door; stay until I return. My housekeeper and daughter are the only ones there. You have my word that if I survive, I will return."

"Very well." Javert growled. "Very well. But, if you do not return and you are not dead, you will wish you were."

Valjean quickly slipped into the night.

"This may be a ridiculous question, but may I go?" Combeferre asked.

"Yes." Javert said, motioning for him to follow. "That was a ridiculous question. No, you may not go."

"I thought not."


	7. To see the Dawn of Peace

Seated in Valjean's drawing room half and hour later, in the soft lamp light, Combeferre felt fatigue finally fall upon him. He stifled a yawn as he looked between Javert, Valjean's maid (both standing), and Mademoiselle Cosette seated across the room from him.

"Th—th—th—this is an outrage." The maid said indignantly. "Monsieur is a-a-a-a-"

"Convict." Javert supplied, laconically. He was examining clock on the mantle, and checking to see if watch matched the time.

A flush spread into Cosette's cheeks. "Papa is not a criminal." She said shakily. "He is a good man."

"Good men do not fear the law. Good men do not run from the law. Nor do they attempt to overthrow the government." Javert added and Cosette's blush deepened. He idly moved the minute hand so it matched his watch.

Feeling sorry for the girl, Combeferre gave Cosette a smile. "You must be the 'angel' that Marius has gone on about."

Her bright eyes lit up as they surveyed the young doctor. "Does Marius talk of me?"

"Not nearly enough. He won't speak your name, he only insists upon your beauty and goodness." Combeferre told her, and Cosette dropped her gaze and smiled with pleasure.

He had three sisters, and he felt the role of older brother came quite naturally to him. It was a bit of a hindrance when one was attempting to woo a grisette, but with patients and in instances such as this it seemed to work to his advantage.

"Marius has told me a bit about his friends," Cosette ventured. "Are you by chance M. Courfeyrac?" She looked enormously taken aback when Combeferre started to laugh.

"I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle! It is just…no, I'm not Courfeyrac. I…I don't think Marius would have ever mentioned me to you. I'm René Combeferre."

Javert watched the two keenly. The maid was still muttering disgruntled half-under her breath, fiddling with her apron, but the inspector ignored her.

"Oh! M. Combeferre…you're medical student, aren't you?" Cosette asked.

Combeferre was mildly surprised. "Well, yes! I stand corrected."

The conversation lagged. Every person in the room was weighted down with his or her own worries, and it made polite small talk well nigh impossible.

Cosette sighed. "Monsieur?" she said, addressing Javert.

The inspector raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes?"

"May I play the piano?"

Javert shrugged. "This is your home."

Cosette rose and walked over to the instrument. She sat down and played a few scales before launching into a melody.

Combeferre swallowed with difficulty. He knew the song by heart. He had sung it with his friends at least a dozen times before.

Cosette played on and Javert languidly kept time by tapping his finger on the mantle. Combeferre ran an anxious hand through his hair, and was surprised to find it damp with sweat. He could almost hear Prouvaire's flute gliding through the same song, and Bahorel's warm tenor giving life to the words.

That same cheerful melody played on the piano made him stand suddenly. He felt the overwhelming need to get out of the drawing room. Bahorel was dead. Jehan was dead. For all he knew, all of his friends were gone forever.

Nausea threatened to overwhelm him as Cosette played on. The cheery tune seemed too perverse after all he had been through, and he merely wanted it to end.

"_Stop!_" He cried, and the maid gasped in fear. Cosette froze and looked at him uncertainly. "You should be playing as for a requiem, not a fete!" Combeferre shut the cover over the keys, firmly.

However, before he could take his hand back, Cosette took his hand into her own, and gasped. "Are you hurt?"

Combeferre looked hesitantly at his hand. Stained with the rust colored remnants of dried blood from the soldiers and friends he had attended just hours ago.

"No….I was helping others." He pulled his hand away, feeling ashamed for reasons he could not pinpoint.

Sympathy flickered on Cosette's face. "I will get you some water and soap. You can wash up a bit…it is bound to make you feel better." Cosette rose and hurried to get the supplies, the maid on her heels, casting bitter glances at the men left in the room.

Javert had watched this whole scene with curiosity. "Interesting."

"What is?" Combeferre asked, sinking into his chair once more.

"How a young man your age can be so blind to the fact he is being flirted with."


	8. Mine Eyes Have Seen

"What? She---don't be ridiculous." Combeferre stammered. "She's just being hospitable." He blinked at Javert's smug smile. "Isn't she? After all she's Marius's interest."

"Yes, but the question arises as to whether or not Marius is _her_ interest." Javert yawned, and began walking around the room. "I imagine with Valjean serving as a 'father' figure the girl has not gotten out much and has not had many opportunities to see gentlemen callers."

"But Marius—"

"Is not present. You are. Good Lord, young man, did you actually attend medical school in this city? Ever have a friend take a girl from you?"

Actually, Bossuet had unwittingly taken three. Courfeyrac had wittingly taken two, but Combeferre had been long convinced that Courfeyrac did not think with his head, so he had forgiven him.

"That blonde fellow, perhaps? Enjolras?"

Combeferre turned away, giving a harsh laugh. "Enjolras prefers to break women's hearts by getting their sons, brothers, and lovers killed."

Cosette returned with a pitcher of water, soap, and towel. The maid set up a basin, mumbling discontentedly under her breath.

"I'll leave this in here. If…if you like, you can join me for a bit to eat. I will be in the dining room." Cosette said, as she handed Combeferre the soap and towel.

"Thank you. I'd rather like that." Combeferre gave her a tired smile and she returned a rather weary one herself.

The maid, apparently fed up, led Cosette from the room, stuttering chastisements in the girl's ear as they left.

Javert sighed. "I feel rather badly for that girl. I imagine that with Valjean as a father she has not had the opportunity to play hostess."

"Marius has been seeing her behind her Papa's back?" Combeferre asked, removing his glasses, and rolling up his sleeves.

"I would hypothesize such, yes."

Combeferre began to scrub his face and hands. The water felt refreshing against his tired skin. It seemed odd after the horror of seeing the death and destruction of the barricade that he could enjoy something as simple as an opportunity to wash; but he felt immensely better as he cleansed the remnants of gore from hands.

He looked up and sighed, as droplets of water ran down his face. Reaching for the dry towel, he dried his face and arms. Yet, he kept his glasses off for a moment longer.

The world, in its unfocused, fuzzy state, always seemed a bit safer. The vague shapes of his room were always the last and first images to greet him every day. It was comforting.

His unfocused gaze fell upon the rust colored water. Without the clarity of sight his glasses afforded him, he could almost pretend it was just ordinary, filthy water.

"You seem quiet, suddenly." Javert remarked.

Combeferre put his glasses back on. "I'm tired."

"That is not surprising in the least." Javert replied. "The wanton destruction of property is bound to be exhausting."

The young doctor felt his lips jerk into a brief half-smile. He was not sure why, but he was starting to view Javert almost as a friend. At the very least, he was starting to feel more at ease around the man.

"Should we join mademoiselle for supper?" Combeferre asked.

Javert glanced out the window and nodded his head towards it. "Breakfast, I should think."

Dawn had broken.


	9. The Barricade Revisited

There was a moment of stunned silence as Combeferre left the barricade. Courfeyrac found himself holding his breath, full expecting the report of a rifle to bring a horrific end to an already tragic scene.

He was more than distraught, however, when he saw Enjolras himself raise his carbine and take aim.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" He cried, clamoring over to clasp the other man by the shoulder.

"Ending this."

A few cheers erupted from the workers who had joined them. Courfeyrac shook Enjolras' shoulder. "What is wrong with you? That's Combeferre!"

"Sacrifices must be made for the Republic."

"Screw the Republic!" Courfeyrac snarled.

Enjolras turned his impassive gaze towards him, his blue eyes bright. "He knew the risks. Leave me be. I must do this."

Courfeyrac was horrified. Never would he have imagined Enjolras capable of killing one of _them_. "You can't…."

A tear formed in the corner of Enjolras' eye. "I shall miss him."

With a strangled cry, Courfeyrac launched himself at Enjolras and knocked him to the ground, pinning him there. The carbine flew out of Enjolras' grip and skidded to rest at Feuilly's feet.

Stunned, Enjolras looked into Courfeyrac's red face. "What has come over you?"

"I'm reconsidering."


End file.
